AFTER THE STORM
We slept at that place that night, and the stars came out clear, and
the water on the sand sang like a harp played by the wind. I slept,
but I dreamed. I thought that Lord Starling came to me, and that the
woman went away. And then the dream shifted, and I stood in a strange,
barren mist-world, and I was alone. I saw the awful loneliness of
creation, and immensity stretched around me. I traveled through
infinite spaces of void and blackness, and found no sound of voice or
life, yet all the time, welling high within me, was a tide, the
fullness of which I had never known in my waking hours. All the
strength that I had hoarded, all the desire for love that I had pushed
aside, all of the fierce commotions of unrest that mark us from the
brute, stirred in me till I felt as if I were suffocating, and cried
out for a helping hand. But I was alone, and gray wastes surrounded
me, and my surge of feeling beat itself out against desolation. I woke
with sweat on my forehead.
I woke to a black night. The stars looked cold, and the men beside me
lay as if dead. I looked up and watched the roll of the planets. The
mystery of infinity which lies naked at midnight in the wilderness
drives some men mad. Heretofore I had been untouched by it except with
delight. Now I crept cautiously to my feet and went softly to the
woman.
I know that I stepped without sound, but as I stood for a moment
looking down at the couch of boughs where she lay I heard a guarded
whisper.
"Monsieur, monsieur."
I bent over her. Her eyes were not only open, but wakeful, and her
small face looked white against the dark blanket.
"What is it, monsieur?" she whispered.
I knelt that I might answer softly. "I woke, and thought you were in
danger. I came to look at you and be sure that all was well. You do
not sleep, madame?"
She shook her head. "I slept, but I dreamed. And you, monsieur?"
"I, too, have dreamed."
I thought that she smiled at me, though her face, when I leaned to see
it clearly, blurred into the dark.
"Will you sleep the rest of the night within sound of my voice?" she
asked, with a little tremble in her whisper. "The wilderness tonight
is like that storm. Its greatness terrifies me. Do you think that all
is well, monsieur?"
I was glad that she could not see my face. "Yes, I think that all is
very well," I answered. "Blessedly well. Sleep, now, madame. I shall
stay here, and your whisper would wake me. Is there terror in the
wilderness now?"
Again she shook her head. "No," she whispered.
I lay beside her couch and cushioned my head in my arm. I had answered
her truly. All was very well with me, for at last I saw clearly; I
knew myself. The dream, the night, and something that I could not
name, had stripped me naked to my own understanding. I felt as if, man
that I had thought myself, I had played with toys until this moment,
and that now, for the first time, I was conscious of my full power for
joy or suffering. I looked up through the star spaces and was grateful
for knowledge, for knowledge even if it brought pain.
I had not lain this way long when I heard her stir.
"Monsieur," came her whisper.
I lifted myself to my knees. "Yes, madame."
"You were not asleep?"
"No, madame."
"Monsieur, I was loath to disturb you, but I cannot sleep. Tell me.
Suppose that Lord Starling should find us. Will he have power to take
me?"
"Away from your husband? How could he, madame?"
She stirred, and turned her face from me, even though I could not see
it in the dark.
"But he has a warrant," she whispered. "The letter said that you must
deliver me to my cousin if we were found. What will be done with you,
monsieur, if you refuse to obey?"
Then I bent close and let her hear me laugh softly.
"I know of no warrant that applies to you," I murmured. "Cadillac's
letter mentioned an Englishman. I know of none such. I travel with a
woman, my wife, and commandants have naught to do with us. Was that
what was troubling you, madame?"
She bowed, and her breath came unevenly. Her right hand lay outside
the blanket, and I bent and touched it with my lips.
"How you hate Lord Starling! How you hate him!" I whispered. "I
wonder, can you love as singly? Can you love with as little care for
self and comfort and for all the fat conveniences of life? Madame, you
are a willful child to lie here and tilt at shadows when you should be
garnering strength by sleep. I promised you my sword and my name, and
I agreed that they should both be yours till of your own wish you
should send me away. Had you forgotten that I promised? I had not."
I had slipped to my knees again and rested with my forehead on her
hand. I could feel her other hand stray toward me.
"No," she whispered. "No, I had not forgotten, but the dark and a
sudden loneliness made me a coward. Thank you. It is over now and I
will sleep. Monsieur, my partner, I will say good-night, and this time
I will not call you."
But I rested a moment longer on my knees with my head against her palm.
Then I rose.
"Partners, perhaps," I said softly. "Yet more than that. Madame, are
we not like pilgrims groping our way together on a dark road? We
cannot see far ahead, but there is a light in the distance. I think
that we shall reach it. Good-night. We shall both sleep now, madame."
But she slept and I did not. It was nearly day when I closed my eyes
again, yet I did not find the moments long.
The next morning was quiet and the sky clear. I had read my maps
rightly, and once embarked, an hour of paddling brought us to Sturgeon
Cove. It opened before us suddenly, a wedge of flecked turquoise laid
across the shaded greens of the peninsula. As we entered it a flock of
white gulls rose from the rocky shore and flew before us. The air,
rain washed, was so limpid that it seemed a marvel that it could
sustain the heavy-pinioned birds, but they moved in sure curves and
seemed to bear us with them. I pointed the woman's glance toward them.
"An omen. We shall follow them and rest here. It is our home."
We nosed our way, with leisurely paddles, close to the northern shore.
The land sloped gently from the beach, and the quivering water, a faded
green from the tree shadows, crawled over gravel that was patterned
with the white of quartz and with the pomegranate of carnelian. It was
a jeweled pavement, and it led to forest aisles where cathedral lights
splashed through the trees. But I would not stop. The gulls were
still leading.
The bay narrowed, and the shores pressed close to us, with compact
ranks of cedars held spearwise. Yet we pushed on, and the water path
spread out once more, a final widening. We saw before us the rounded
end of the bay, and the neck of land that formed the Sturgeon portage.
The woman looked at me.
"What now, monsieur?"
But I smiled at her with my conceit untroubled. I had seen reeds close
to the northern shore. "Halt!" I cried to the canoes.
We lay quiet a moment, and the birds glancing back at us found us
suddenly harmless. The reeds under them were swarming with young fish.
The gulls looked down and squawked in a hungry chorus. In a moment
they lighted, balancing their great wings like reefing sails.
I laughed as I looked at the woman. It was a small triumph, but
intoxication breeds easy laughter. I had been drinking deep that
morning of a sparkling happiness more disturbing than any wine.
We sent the canoes shoreward into the curve where the reeds lay. The
stiff green withes rattled against our canoes like hail, and gave
warning of our approach for a half mile distant. I nodded my inner
approval.
"The gulls are wise," I said to the woman. "We could not plan a better
water defense to our camp."
The grass came down to the water, and we pulled the canoes over short
turf and into beds of white blossoms. A cloud of butterflies rose to
greet us; they too were satin-white, the color that a bride should
wear, and they fluttered over us without fear. The smell of the
grasses rose like incense. With all the light and perfume there was a
sense of quiet, of deep content and peace. Even the woods that fringed
the meadow seemed kindly. They did not have the sombre awe of the
heavy timber, but looked sun-drenched and gay.
"We shall stay here," I said. "Unload the canoes."
Five men with good sinews, some understanding, and well-sharpened axe
blades, can make a great change in the forest in one day. When the
sunset found us I had a fortified house built for my wife. It was
framed of fragrant pine, and occupied the extremity of a spit of land
that lay next the meadow. Its door opened on the water, and I made the
opening wide so that the stars might look in at night. All about the
sides and rear of the house were laid boughs, one upon another, and on
the top of this barricade was stretched a long cord threaded with
hawk's bells. The lodges for myself and the men we placed in the rear,
and behind them we laid still another wall of brush to separate us from
the forest. I was satisfied with the defenses. With the reeds in
front and the brush behind, any intruder would sound his own alarm.
The woman took Singing Arrow and went to her house early that night,
but I sat late over my charts and journal. I had much to study and
more to plan.
Yet I was abroad the next morning while the stars were still reflected
in the bay. Labarthe was with me, and we took Singing Arrow's light
canoe and packed it with supplies and merchandise. Then we breakfasted
on meal and jerked meat and were ready to start.
But the rest of the men were not yet astir, and the woman's house was
silent. I walked to it and stood irresolute. I disliked to wake her.
Yet I could not leave her without some message. But while I pondered I
heard her step behind me. She came up from the water, and she looked
all vigor and morning gladness.
"Why the canoe so early?" she called. "Do we have fish for breakfast?"
I took her hand. "Come with me to the water." I led her to the canoe
and pointed out the bales of supplies. "You see we are ready for work.
We shall be back in a few days."
She dropped my hand. "Then why did you build that house?"
"Why not, madame?"
"But you say that we are to go this morning."
"I must go, madame."
"And you intend to leave me here?"
"Why, yes, madame."
"But you said 'we.'"
I looked some amazement. "I take Labarthe with me. I leave three men
with you on guard. There is nothing to fear."
And then she threw back her head. "I do not think that I am afraid,"
she said more quietly. "But--I was not prepared for this. It had not
occurred to me that you would go away."
I stopped a moment. "I do not go for pleasure. Indeed, I cannot
imagine a fairer spot in which to linger and forget the world. But did
you think that I would sit in idleness, madame?"
She looked down. "I do not know that I thought at all about it. It
has gone on like a play, a dream. Perhaps I thought it would continue.
Your plan is to travel from tribe to tribe, and come back here at
intervals?"
"That is my plan. I shall buy furs and cache them here. I shall try
not to be away more than a week at a time. I regret that I surprised
you. I did not think but that you understood."
She stood biting her lips and smiling to herself in half-satiric,
half-whimsical fashion. "It says little for my intelligence that I was
unprepared. You are a man, not a courtier. I should have known that
you would not waste an hour. I wish that I might go with you."
"Madame, I wish it, too."
She looked up more briskly. "But that would be impossible. Have you
instructions for me, monsieur?"
"Madame, if you are afraid, come with me."
"I am not afraid if you say that it is safe, monsieur."
"Thank you, madame. I think that it is entirely safe. Pierre is a
good deal of a fool and more of a knave, but in some few respects there
is no one like him; he is a rock. You are my wife and in his charge.
He will guard you absolutely."
"Are we in danger of attack?"
"I can imagine no possible reason for attack, else I should not leave
you. The Indians are friendly. One thing troubles me. Your
cousin---- Should"----
She looked up. "Should Lord Starling find me?" she completed. "Well,
he would tarry here until you came. He would at least show that
courtesy. I can promise as much as that for the family name, monsieur."
I smiled at her. "I shall await the meeting," I said with unction. I
motioned Labarthe to the paddle, and I kissed the woman's hand.
"I salute your courage. I shall see you within the week, madame."
She looked straight at me. "And until then, good fortune."
But I paused. "Wish me opportunity. That is all that I ask from you
or of you,--opportunity. Good-by for a week, madame."